


ouma rarepair stuff.

by Anonymous



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Aftercare, Choking, Crossdressing, Cuddling, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Fluff, M/M, Pegging, Post-Game, Sadomasochism, domestic AU, four of the mlm pairings are p common thats why itS SO STRAIGHT OOF, pre-game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-06-21 14:50:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15560157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: What it says on the tin.Lastest chapter:Warning -- violent, unhealthy relationship.Maki knows a boy. His throat is decorated with bruises in the shape of her hands, his pale skin painted with scars and blotches underneath his dark gakuran that look like the shadows of her cigarette butts.On hot summer nights he begs her to break him, those lovely violet eyes feverishly bright with unfettered masochism, and she finds herself unable to resist.





	1. +shirogane (post-game)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-game. Shirogane and Ouma are wary of each other, but both lonely enough that they can't completely ignore each other.

He haunts her.

To think that she would have secured her victory after she sprayed a vicious red X over his stupid mouth. Shirogane almost laughs at it. The thought of him leaves a sour taste on her tongue; whether she wants to admit it or not, he had trumped her one final time before bowing out of the game, and that's just not something she can divorce from his name.

Kokichi Ouma. That's right. She chose that name along with the frumpy little lady from the PR department over lunch. She made him. How dare he. _How dare he._

She gave him everything he could have ever wanted, put a fresh coat of paint over his stuttering voice and bland personality, made good use of that intellect that was hidden behind so many layers of insecurity. Without her, he would have grown up to be another faceless grunt in the list of names at a company meeting, a listless number-cruncher who worked until dinnertime and spent every hour after drifting through a void with no mother or father or sister or brother in it to keep him company in his friendless hovel.

Instead, he is haunting her. He sits across from her in the group counseling sessions. He splits candy bars with her, waves hi to her in the hallways. When she looks at him, she almost always finds him looking back at her.

He is not unkind.

Maybe it's a mockery of solidarity that's risen between them. They hate her, they all do; it's harder now not to hate them back when she's not in control. She hates quietly, fists clenched in her pockets behind pale green walls meant for soothing patients as they whisper about her in the kitchen.

They hate him too. This hate is loud. It's as loud as the tense "Shut up, Ouma" that forces its way out from between Momota's gritted teeth, as loud as the "Shut up, asshole" Harukawa testily grills him with after he doesn't listen to Momota. Oh, Ouma. He's still every bit as abrasive as she wrote him.

Late at night, she sits on one of the fat leather couches in the recreation area and feels it wither under her weight. He haunts her there, too.

"What's Shirogane-chan doing here all by her lonesome?"

"Oh, it's you."

"Aw, don't be such a stranger. At least tell me what you're up to so I don't start thinking you're gonna murder us for realsies."

Her fists clench in her pockets. The urge to put him in his place resurfaces. "I wrote you, you know? I know what you're trying to do."

His eyes appear next to her, glittering from the blue nightlight plugged into the wall opposite them both. "Wow, creepy. I feel so vulnerable right now."

She makes a small _tch_ noise.

"Tell me, then. What am I trying to do, huh?"

"You're lonely."

The intake of breath she hears soon afterwards doesn't sound pleased. She thinks he does a fine job of masking it, though. "Another insightful observation by Shirogane-chan the psychologist. Maybe you should be the one leading our therapy sessions."

"Come here."

He stops. Her arms are outstretched, ready for him to fall into. Her face is frozen into a tired frown.

"You really don't beat around the bush, do you?" he asks.

She shakes her head.

He approaches cautiously, like a cat being introduced to a dog. He's halfway there, then he's close enough for her to see each hair on his head, then he's leaning in, and then he's in her arms.

All she can think of is how she's forgotten how good physical contact feels. Who was the last person she hugged? It was for a photoshoot, wasn't it? Her memories are muddy. She wraps her arms around him and pulls him closer.

He's warm and small and doesn't quite fit the contours of her body as well as one would hope. It takes some awkward rearranging for limbs not to poke into each other painfully, bony as he is. There. This is good. She can hear his soft breathing, deep and relaxed as his eyes droop shut. He breathes in, he breathes out.

She threads her fingers through his hair and feels him shiver, sees the little kink in his one visible eyebrow as he leans up into her hand. Of course. Anyone would enjoy being treated gently like this.

A few minutes of stroking his hair and back and neck later, she wonders if she's feeling lucky today. She's done it before, and it's probably going to feel the same with him. No big deal.

The second the pad of her thumb meets the soft center of his bottom lip, his eyes fly open, and they blearily focus on her after a moment or two. She start to get the impression that he hasn't read as much trashy romance manga as she has.

He gets it soon enough. She's not lucky today; he pulls her hand off of his face with his dainty fingers and she doesn't resist.

"Shiro-chan has to level up our relationship more before she kisses me," he whispers, leaning his head on her shoulder. He's averting his eyes into the navy fabric of her jacket and his cheeks are more solidly peach-hued than the rest of his ghastly white body.

"Ah, you're right." She tucks a stray wisp of hair behind his ear. "Romance without development is a big no-no."

It's not a funny line, but it nets her a soft chuckle anyway. It sounds like he's in a good mood.

She might be in a good mood too.

As he is, he doesn't trust her enough to just fall asleep curled up next to her on the couch. It's alright. Maybe he doesn't even really like her, just wants to be held by someone. That's also alright. He retreats to the boys' side of the dormitory area sleepily, tugging his pajama top back into place as he disappears into a dark doorway.

Shirogane falls asleep on the couch.


	2. +iruma (smut)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma and Iruma burn the midnight oil working on an invention together. Iruma comes out of the shower only to find Ouma dressed in her clothes, smirking coyly.
> 
> They forget about the blueprints completely as she fucks his ass with a strap-on until he's screaming her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oumiu smut chapter. i'm assuming they're both 18 (last year of high school) in this.

"No peeking, you got it, pervert?"

"Yeah, I don't wanna go blind."

He sticks his tongue out as she huffs, mumbling something about her blinding beauty being too much for uncultured eyes. She leaves him swinging his legs in her armchair as he doodles away on a notepad, almost painfully disinterested at the prospect of her undressing.

She even leaves the door cracked open, hoping he'll get the hint, but she never once catches his eye through that compromising crack. Not even when she unclasps her bra and tosses it to the side with a clear slap as it hits the wall.

Whatever. It's not like he has the brains to appreciate her anyway.

The walls of the shower fog up and she can't see anything outside clearly anymore, but the dismaying lack of purple or white blobs of color popping up behind the misty glass gets to her all the same. It could be that he doesn't want her at all. The thought baffles her--why would anyone pass up the chance to take a peek at Miu Iruma herself in the nude?--but it starts to make some kind of roundabout sense when she reminds herself that it's Ouma she's dealing with.

She sighs, soaping down her front with the same body wash everyone uses in this academy. He's always been detached with her during their actual get-togethers. Professional. It pisses her off, the way he's such a tease around her in front of everyone else but turns as frigid as a Puritan maid once they're alone. There's not the slightest hint of a blush on his face when she leans over the blueprints in a way that shows off her cleavage, not even a glance spared at the lacy outline of her panties when she stands on a ladder above him to reach something high up on her shelf.

He's sitting out there in her room right now, probably drawing weird horses with six legs or something. Iruma wonders why she has such terrible taste in men.

At least she can be with him in her head. Her eyes unfocus as she imagines him.

He said he showered before coming over, since they'd known it was going to be a long meeting, hadn't he? Yeah...his hair had been slightly damp when he walked in. Iruma hasn't been in any of the boys' dorm bathrooms, but she bets they look almost the same as hers does. She lets her mind wander to a hypothetical, identical bathroom four hours prior.

Ouma's in there, unbuttoning his pants. He loosens the thigh straps and lets them drop, kicking them off into the corner. He's a bit of a slob, so he probably leaves them in a pile with yesterday's dirty clothes instead of tossing them in the hamper like he should.

He takes off his boxers next. Oh god.

Then he's in the shower like she is now, quietly singing a little tune in his low voice, warm water cascading in shimmering runnels down his pale body. Some of it pools above his clavicles as he raises his arms above his head, stretching.

She wonders if he masturbates in the shower, white teeth digging into his lower lip as his hips twitch and his breath mingles with the humidity surrounding him. She very nearly touches herself to the thought before she remembers that he's still waiting for her to finish up out there.

He's such a buzzkill.

The water stops. There's no startled clattering of footsteps or mischievous whinnying laughter that would indicate him spying on her. _What a gentleman_ , she thinks sarcastically. She dries herself off, fluffs out her hair, and puts on her clothes. The door's open to the exact angle she left it at, to no one's surprise. Better get back to work. She rounds the corner into her bedroom.

"Hey Iruma-chan! Shucks, I was kinda hoping you drowned in there."

And she very nearly shrieks in surprise. "What the--You--Huh--?"

He's sitting on the edge of her bed like nothing's wrong, draped in a set of clothes that's too big for him, which droops off of one milk-colored shoulder seductively. _Her_ clothes. Notably, the bondage gear is missing, and she's almost miffed at how innocent her flashy uniform looks on him.

"Oh, surprised? I was sitting here all by my lonesome and I thought, hey, I can be Iruma-chan too! Now I can get _twice_ the work done!" Ouma cheers, pumping a fist. "Whaddaya think? I'm a smart cookie, right?"

Iruma isn't sure if she's thirsty enough for it to affect her reasoning, but she considers herself a smart cookie too, and she thinks he just might be hinting at something with his partially exposed chest and shoulders.

She just needs to make sure. "Hell no! I bet you were plannin' on touching yourself in my skirt like the sweaty little freak you are," she accuses him, stomping over to the bed where he's blinking at her like he has no clue what she's talking about. "Besides..."

He doesn't scoot back or flinch away as she plants a knee between his legs, nor does he resist when she pushes him over onto the bedspread. He lies there looking up at her with a faint smile gracing his lips, arms pitched carelessly up about his head from the fall.

Iruma is glad she's gotten better at keeping her drool inside her mouth. "...I wanna see if you were enough of a gross perv to go all the way." It's happening, it's really happening. She swallows as her hand brushes against the snowy smoothness of his thigh and trails upwards.

She lifts his skirt.

There, in the pink shadow of the brightly dyed fabric, she spots the outline of his half-hard cock in her sheer black panties. He smirks as she stutters out something incomprehensible and jerks her hand away, letting the pleats fall back into place.

Like a lazy cat, he spreads himself out, nestling his hands behind his head comfortably. "An evil supreme leader like me will sink to any depths to accomplish his goals. Even putting himself at risk of contracting diseases from putrid fuck cows like you," he says brightly, flashing her a grin.

"P-Putrid...?" she whimpers, fingers curled over her thumbs like she's scared to touch him. It's hard not to get like this when he calls her bluff.

"Uh huh. Putrid Iruma-chan making a face like a creepy old man staring at my panties like that...so scary," he whines, squirming on the bed. His thighs sandwich her knee and she lets out a nervous _haa_ as the possibility of really, actually having sex with him grows greater by the second.

"Th-those are _my_ panties!" she protests. Her fingers itch. She wants to lift up that skirt again.

Ouma ignores her, preferring to keep up his silly charade. "I bet she's thinking of lots of dirty things right now. Uwaaaa, I can't believe that rotten girl saw me...and _there_ , too..." He's practically moaning as he says this, wriggling his hips lewdly and pouting at her.

"Heeeeeeeee!" she shrieks, tugging her hair. "How the hell am I supposed to think clean things with you makin' that slutty face down there?"

"Good point!" he giggles. Then it's all over. His fidgeting earlier had brought her leg dangerously close to his crotch, and now, her eyes widen as he grinds on her directly. He's as hard as she is wet right now, pressing into her skin as he licks his lips. "So what do you wanna do? Are you gonna grope me, you sicko? Or do you wanna do something..." His eyes grow half-lidded, brimming with lust. "... _even nastier_?"

She squeals, her face turning bright pink. Her golden brain immediately gets to work finding the right tool for the job--

And settles on the contraption sitting in the drawer of her nightstand. She had forgotten about it until now, and was just planning to use it on herself if she got bored of her other vibrators. Now, though, _now_ , she has a very aroused supreme leader practically humping her leg, and she can't think of a better use for her homemade motion-detecting strap-on.

"Keep your cum in your balls for a sec, Whorema," she grits out, hopping awkwardly over to her nightstand and wincing at the wet spot growing in her underwear.

"Not your best nickname," he says impatiently. "What's that?"

She lifts it out of the drawer triumphantly and he lets out this noise that travels straight to her crotch.

"Iruma-chan, _hnngh_ , put it on! Fuck, where's your lube?" He's biting his lip so hard she's almost scared he'll hurt himself and rocking his hips down onto the covers, desperate for any stimulation.

"Jesus, someone's horny." She fastens the buckles securely and gives her new cock a jerk or two for show. Even that makes him whine, clawing at the comforter restlessly. "Are you even clean downstairs?"

His face goes blank. "I don't shit," he tells her in the most serious tone of voice she's ever heard him use.

"Wha--"

Apparently he's horny enough to get up and rummage through her belongings himself, immediately finding a bottle of fruity lubricant. He uncaps it, turns it upside down, and lets thick ropes of it drizzle into his waiting palm. She can't help but notice how his erection lifts up his skirt, a dark patch in the cloth signaling where precome is surely dripping out of his throbbing length.

"Sit," he says, pointing at a spot on the bed. She kicks her skirt and panties away and stumbles over to him, sitting obediently.

She watches as his slender hands thoroughly slick her cock with perhaps more lube than necessary. He's panting softly the whole time, hips angled so that his motions cause the skirt to brush against the tip of his dick.

Then, without warning, he's climbing into her lap and she finds herself amazed at just how eager he is to have her inside of him. His eyes are clouded over with wild desire, his face is flushed, and a thin line of saliva leaks out the side of his mouth. "Hang on tight," he says breathlessly, and she has all of half a second to put her hands on his hips before he sinks down onto her. _"Yes,_ " he groans once his greedy ass has swallowed her all up, eyes rolling into his head. "Mmmm, I'm so full!"

"Did you learn that from a hentai or something, you little slut?" She's finding it hard to breathe right just looking at him.

He starts to bounce on her cock, his own member bobbing up and down as he rides her hard and fast. "Ah, ah, ah, ah, _ngh, fuck,_ AH!" he yelps, throwing his head back as she hits a good spot inside him. "So big--!"

She finds herself crossing her legs to the sound of his pleasured cries, each up and down placing more pressure on her clit thanks to how her device is set up. But... "A-ah...haah, Ouma...Ouma! Slow down, you hasty fuckin' bitch, we're not doing it right!"

He makes a frustrated noise, but stops and glowers at her. "What? What do you mean we're not doing it right?"

"I mean you--shit, here, let me show you."

He must not have been expecting her to display a lot of dominance, because he squeaks in surprise as she pulls him off of her dick and throws him onto the bed. "W-wow, are you gonna--is Iruma-chan feeling tough? What--" He cuts himself off with a squeal as she folds him in half, sinking into his ass from above. "Ooh! Come on, move, move!"

"Better stop running your mouth 'cause I'm gonna fuck your brains out, you little shit!" she all but shouts, drawing back and slamming herself back in.

At the peak of her thrust, when she's buried deep inside him, the harness suddenly activates. "Aaaaaahhhhh!" he cries, tongue flopping out. She groans, remembering how intense the vibrations are.

"Here I come again...!" she hisses, plunging into him once more. His legs jerk as she pounds him mercilessly, each thrust ending in a sharp pulse from the vibrator.

"So good, it's so good, I'm gonna go stupid!" he moans, barely in control of his body anymore. "Ah! Ah, Iruma-chan, ahhnnn!"

She dimly wonders if they're being loud enough for anyone to hear. Hopefully the other girls are deep sleepers...

They can deal with any disgruntled neighbors in the morning, though. Right now, it's just her and Ouma, fucking like rabbits as both his prostate and her clit are abused by the harness's powerful vibrations. Neither are going to last long from the looks of it--Iruma is dripping something fierce and the underside of Ouma's skirt is growing sticky with more than just pre.

A little longer and Ouma arches his back, finally fucked speechless as whatever sound rips out of him is nothing more than a scream of pure pleasure. His seed soaks through the skirt, white and gooey as it drips down his thighs.

Iruma beats him by a few seconds, grinding on the vibrator inside the harness until it sends her over the edge. She pulls herself out of Ouma and collapses next to him.

Neither of them move for a while, huffing and puffing uselessly on the bed.

"Hey," Ouma finally croaks.

"Huh?" Iruma doesn't sound any less exhausted.

"My legs don't work suddenly. I can't walk back to my dorm."

"Oh, nice."

It's only Toujou who catches them walking out of the same dorm room in the morning, and she doesn't look surprised in the least.


	3. +shirogane (fluff without plot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long night's sleep, Ouma wakes up to none other than Nagito Komaeda lying in bed beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to write something dark and canon compliant but i caved and wrote fluff: the musical

Sunrise crept around the bend. All of a sudden, the room was flooded with sunlight, the sheer beige curtains helpless as seven o' clock soaked through their gossamer threads.

  
In the king-sized bed, Ouma stirred, ruffling cloudlike sheets as he let out a quiet kitten's yawn and rolled over onto his side. His blurry, sleep-crusted vision caught the edge of someone's jaw against the feather pillow beside his. "G'morning," he slurred.

  
"Good morning, beautiful."

  
Ouma blinked a few times. His wide violet eyes finally took in the cotton-candy hair and green jacket in bed next to him, and they lit up in recognition.

  
"AHHHHHHHHH!" he shrieked, disturbing blankets and throw pillows galore in his scramble for safety. "Shirogane-chan, help! There's a stranger in here!"

  
"H-hey, don't yell so loud!" Komaeda raised his arms defensively, looking alarmed. When Ouma's screeching didn't die down, Komaeda sighed, disappearing in a flurry of wig caps and clothing. A split second later, Kazuichi Souda's bubblegum pink mop and shark teeth popped up in his place. "Come on, pal. You know me, don'tcha?"

  
"Wahhhhhhh! I'm being haunted by the vengeful spirit of an ancient cuckold!"

  
Another flurry. "A cuckold? Where?" Yasuhiro Hagakure stammered, looking genuinely frightened.

  
"Now it's an ancient sea urchin! Shirogane-chan, heeeeeeelp!" Ouma wailed, beginning to barricade himself in with pillows.

  
It was no use, for Mahiru Koizumi appeared behind him, leaning over the bed with a disdainful look on her freckled face. "Some husband you'll make, crying for a girl's help like that."

  
"I'll be her wife instead," Ouma mumbled from behind his impromptu fortress. Shortly, he heard another whoosh, and caught a glimpse of Shirogane's familiar blue eyes through the gap between a fuzzy cream-hued pillow and a sausage-shaped one. "Shiro-chan--"

  
He was cut short as Sakura Oogami's large frame crashed into bed next to him, her weight bending the mattress and causing his much lighter form to tumble onto her. He looked up and found her intense gaze trained on him, piercing into his soul.

  
"Ouchie, you're as hard as rocks." He thumped her abs.

  
Whoosh. Ouma found himself being thrown back, but the moment he recovered, Oogami was gone without a trace. The Ultimate Impostor shot him a questioning look.

  
"Oh!" Ouma sidled up to him quickly, snuggling into him as one would an oversized teddy bear. "Thaaat's more like it..."

  
"This is but one of the many benefits of my physical form," the Togami impersonator commented.

  
"It sure is," Ouma murmured contentedly. They stayed like that for a moment or two. Shadows of birds danced across the curtains, their morning song seeping into the room with the ever-advancing sun. A beam of warmth from the gap in the curtains crawled onto the side of Ouma's face, illuminating him in glowing white. He propped himself up on his elbows. "So what's all this about?" he finally asked. It was clear that he was not addressing any corporate heirs.

  
The impostor harrumphed. "I know you have a type, Ouma."

  
"A what?"

  
Whoosh. Ouma had to catch himself as the form underneath him shrank.

  
"A type," said Kyouko Kirigiri, the Ultimate Detective.

  
Oh.

  
"Hey..." Ouma's voice softened. It felt a little strange, like flexing a muscle he hadn't used in a while. "You're not...jealous, are you?"

  
Kirigiri leveled a stony stare at him. "Of course not." She lay as still as a statue underneath him, impassively moving her mouth only as much as she needed to get the words out. "There's no reason for that, when I can be anyone you want me to be. Why should I be concerned about competition?"

  
"You don't have to show off like that." He sat up, straddling her lap. "I'm not gonna get bored of you, y'know?"

  
This stance was short-lived. The world spun, and Ouma found his arms being pinned above him by Junko Enoshima herself. Enoshima smiled.

  
"Oh, really? You're a real sweet talker, trying to make that lame nerd feel better about her cardboard personality." Her grip shifted, and he felt a glossy red nail trace its way down his cheek. "What if I want this cute little morsel all to myself, hmm? Poor thing, you must be bored to death every day with her puttering around the house like a wind-up toy."

  
"Shirogane-chan..." His arms snaked around Enoshima's back. She let him pull her down. "Your goddess of despair act is super cool and all, but she's not the one I love." He closed his eyes. "I fell in love with a lame nerd. She makes lots of stupid references, and when she gets too excited about something, she drools like a dog. I don't want anyone else. Do you hear that? I don't want her to pretend to be anyone else for me, and that's the truth."

  
His eyes remained closed. He could hear her shaky breathing, the beginnings of a laugh, as fabric began to shift under his arms. Whoosh.

  
"Who's there?" he asked.

  
"Just plain old me."

  
Ouma cracked open one eye, then another. Then his face broke out into a bright grin. "Welcome back!"

  
"Thanks, Ouma-kun." She ruffled his hair.

  
"Mhmm. Your glasses are foggy."

  
"I know."

  
"They're also upside-down."

  
"Oh--"

  
"Gotcha!"

  
Shirogane caught the faintest trace of a blush on his cheeks as he hopped out of bed and darted away, giggling madly. She smiled to herself and took off after him.


	4. +harukawa (pre-game, smut)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maki knows a boy. His throat is decorated with bruises in the shape of her hands, his pale skin painted with scars and blotches underneath his dark gakuran that look like the shadows of her cigarette butts.  
> On hot summer nights he begs her to break him, those lovely violet eyes feverishly bright with unfettered masochism, and she finds herself unable to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> self...indulgent...kinky... yup this is the nasty chapter.
> 
> EDIT: a/n: both characters have vaginas in this one yodelay hee hoo  
> tread with caution if you're dysphoric, most of ouma's descriptions are v feminine

"Harukawa-chan!" Ouma cheerfully waves at her from the other side of the tennis court, his small figure almost indistinguishable from the muddied pattern of the chain link fence behind him. "Are you ready for our match today? I trained super hard, so you better watch out!"

  
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, punk." Maki slams the gate behind her with an unnecessary force. The fence clatters and jiggles, a twanging not unlike that of a spring echoing through the humid air. She wades through fireflies and weeds that have seeped through the cracks in the court floor over to her waiting opponent, squinting to make out his face in the purple twilight. "Let's make this quick. It's getting dark out."

  
"Okie-dokie! I'm ready at aaaaany time, so if my beloved grumpy-chan wants a quick and dirty fight, she can go ahead and--" The cigarette dangling from her lips is suddenly between her fingers, traveling towards him like a homing missile, its ember-yellow end angled expertly at a point just above his hipbone as her other hand efficiently yanks his shirt up to expose her target.

  
The end of its flight is signaled by the sick hiss of burning flesh and Ouma's choked, wordless exclamation of pain. His small body spasms in her arms, trying to squirm away from the awful heat but finding that it follows him.

  
"Shut up," she mutters. As soon as she lifts the smoldering, crumpled, cig from his skin, his own clammy fingers clap over the wound, a makeshift cold compress. He's making that familiar expression: brows furrowed, teeth clenched, sweat beading on his forehead. Cute.

  
Maki drops her spent smoke and crushes it under her heel. "Fight me, Ouma," she commands.

  
He struggles to right himself from his doubled-over stance, his face still twisted into that adorable grimace. "H-haah...No fair...We agreed not to bring weapons, remember? Ch-cheater." He shoots her a quivering smile. "Though you might as well consider that thing part of your body, you stinky chainsmoker."

  
"Get on with it."

  
"Okayyyy," he whines. He begins to roll up his sleeves. One by one, the burn marks and bruises present themselves, a slough of battle scars parading up and down his arms, lined up like trophies in a display case. They'd make him look tough if he wasn't so pretty. He shakes out his hair, gives her his most menacing scowl, and clenches one tiny fist. "Heads up!"

  
She wonders if she should tell him that he shouldn't warn her when he's about to strike. She gets those urges from time to time, the ones that make her want to give him proper training instead of beating him to a pulp like she usually does. It's funny to consider that doing so would only make him aggravated.

  
Maki catches his punch nonchalantly and uses the leftover momentum to send him to the floor. He hits the ground shoulder-first and bounces with a little yelp. So useless.

  
So fuckable.

  
Her eyes rove over the curves of his body as he rolls over and attempts to push himself back up into a sitting position. What should she do next? He manages to stand up and she observes the tension in his ass, his thighs. The tension in the way he bites his lip and looks at her expectantly.

  
She doesn't give him a heads up when she punches him in the gut. It's not one of her heavier punches--not enough to bring his lunch back up, but enough to send him stumbling backwards and falling flat on his ass from the force of it. She relishes the way his soft stomach gives in to her fist.

  
"Ouchie," he wheezes, placing a slender hand over where her blow landed. It must have hurt.

  
And yet he comes back for more.

  
This time, she grabs his arm and twists it behind his back, making him whimper and strain pathetically against her grip. "Had enough yet?" she asks him.  
"Ow ow ow, let go, let go," he hisses, wiggling in her grip and yanking his arm forwards over and over as if that'll set him free. She twists it further. "A-ah! It hurts!"

  
His babbling only grows louder as she slowly bends him over, squeezing his body into a surely painful shape. "Say uncle," she demands flatly.

  
There's a confused pause. "Huh, what? Of all the things you could make me say, you choose--ngh!" His head jerks backwards and his warm form tenses against her as she wrenches both of his arms backwards, making tears spring to his eyes. "U-uuuu...Harukawa-chan, so mean..."

  
"Say it." She laces her fingers through his and squeezes her knuckles together, hard.

  
He lets out a little squeal and his thighs clench deliciously around her leg. "Nhg--it hurts," he pants. "P-please, let go, u-uuugghh, it huuuurts--" Maki briefly takes stock of the heated shiver running through the boy tangled up in her limbs. The bare skin of her leg isn't particularly sensitive, but from how breathy his whimpers are getting, she judges that she's not imagining the patch of damp warmth forming where it connects with his crotch.

  
She squeezes harder and he cries out, his svelte frame trembling dangerously. "Uncle!" he gasps.

  
Ouma falls to the floor in a heap. His hair is a mess, strands of blackish-purple stuck to his flushed cheeks where tears have sealed them to his skin, bangs falling over one of his eyes lopsidedly. One shoulder of his jacket is misaligned, the corner seam jutting out from his back instead. His gaze flickers up to meet Maki's and he smiles.

  
She punches him in the face.

  
There's blood on her fist when she pulls away. "Fight back," she barks, and his body obeys unconsciously. One second he's hurtling towards her with his arm cocked, and the next he's being slammed against the fence with beastly force. She pulls him back up by the collar and he barely has time to register what's happening before she's on him again, slapping and punching and bludgeoning with such gusto he can barely raise a hand to defend himself.

  
The harsh thuds of flesh on flesh eventually slow to a stop as Maki tires of mindless violence and props Ouma's limp ragdoll body up against the crisscrossed wires, brushing the matted hair out of his face and tucking it behind his ear almost tenderly.

  
They're both breathing heavily, chests expanding and contracting in a dialogue of exertion. He mumbles something indistinct as she leans in and kisses the blood off of his split lip. His eyes flutter shut.

  
The air around them is beginning to cool, the sweltering humidity of late afternoon fading into a gentle warmth occasionally graced with a light breeze that sends the empty dandelion stalks swaying. Ouma's mouth is so warm, so soft. His quiet sigh of contentment tickles her face and she scoots over further, wrapping her arms around his waist. Maki feels at peace.

  
He tastes like blood.

  
All of a sudden, her arms are locked around his neck in a neat chokehold. His hands scrabble desperately at her uniform's baggy sleeves but she feels his back arching and knows just how much pleasure is coursing through that lithe body of his right now. She holds him tighter and counts down from five.

  
Four. And she feels his jaw working, opening in gasps for air that draw nothing into his lungs.

  
Three. His hips start jerking as he makes tiny, choked noises that travel straight to her crotch.

  
Two. She's seen him like this before. She knows that his eyes are growing hazy, his tongue is sticking out, and he's lost himself to the heady feeling of being completely dominated.

  
One. She throws him to the ground again and he collapses, drawing deep, relieved lungfuls of muggy sod-scented air.

  
She waits a moment or two before she descends on him. The rubbery smell of the tennis court floor rises to her nostrils as her palms land on either side of his head. "Haru--" Her name dies in his throat as she rips his jacket open, exposing the warm flesh underneath. His wide eyes make him look so surprised, even though she's sure he's been expecting this.

  
"Fucking slut," she breathes, gripping the front of his binder.

  
"Hnn--?" The ridge where the fabric wraps around an elastic band slides up over his chest further and further until both pert, rosy nipples pop out, eliciting a soft whine.

  
She takes one into her mouth greedily, running her tongue over the tip and sucking hard enough for her teeth to leave a ring of indents in his skin. It draws a cute noise out of him, halfway between an intelligible vocalization and a mewl. She moves on to his other nipple, dragging her tongue in circles around the areola before rubbing it over the part that makes him quiver underneath her.

  
He's too weak and beaten up to facilitate her efforts so she makes sure to push his clothes out of the way herself, cupping his soft, round breasts and working them with her hands.

  
"Nnn...Are we just gonna...do it here...?" he asks hazily, arching into her touch.

  
"Yeah? Nobody comes here anyway."

  
Maki doesn't realize her mistake in phrasing until he grins cheekily at her. "But we're gonna."

  
"Shut up before you ruin the mood."

  
Ouma seems a bit cowed at how quickly she pops the button of his pants and slides her hand into his underwear, but if anything, he doesn't complain. Her fingers slip inside him easily, making a dirty, wet noise as they penetrate his slick folds. He groans and rocks his hips. "Mm--fuck, I'm really--ooh..."

  
A high-pitched squeak slips past his lips when she starts wiggling her fingers inside him, back and forth, back and forth, faster and faster as she makes him soak himself. He's panting like a puppy, bucking helplessly, chest heaving as he struggles to keep up with her pace.

  
"Hey, stop--hold on, you're not," he says haltingly, eyes cloudy with lust. "You're not getting any action." His reluctance to pull himself off of her fingers is palpable, but he does it anyway. "Aha...ha...can't let you get away with that."

  
She raises an eyebrow, pretending to look unamused, but the sight of him spread out like this has her all kinds of excited. That's not something she can hide from him. She acquiesces with a grunt. "You're smaller, so you lie on top of me."

  
"Mmkay." He shuffles out from underneath her, wincing slightly as he puts pressure on a new bruise, but successfully manages to overlay himself on her taller frame. "Is that good?"

  
She answers by grabbing his hips and pushing his pussy firmly down onto her mouth. He yelps when she digs her tongue in, his muscles fluttering around her as she explores his inner walls. There's a shakiness to his breath as he lowers himself over her entrance, hastily pulling aside her panties and lapping at her clit with his soft tongue.

  
Just like a puppy.

  
Maki teases at an area near his clit a few times, licking close but never touching it. Each time he moves his hips in order to get that sweet pressure over his most sensitive spot, she stills him with her hands and plays with his labia instead. He catches on quickly and whines disapprovingly from where he's eating her out.

  
It's getting harder to care about teasing him when the vibrations of the noises he makes feel so good down there. She feels her orgasm steadily approaching and relents.

  
Gripping his thighs to keep them in place, she gives his clit a hard suck.

  
"Mnnnff--!" She loves how vocal he is when he's coming apart. She punishes him with her teeth and lips and tongue, relentlessly stimulating that one spot until his thighs are quivering and twitching above her and he can't hold any of his desperate moans back.

  
She's sure he'd be grinding enthusiastically against her face right now if she wasn't holding him back. Finding his lower half stilled, he makes up for it by licking faster instead, his head bobbing as he tries his best to give her the same pleasure she's giving him.

  
Grabbing handfuls of his soft buttocks, she guides him down to his demise. He sings out something amazingly high as a spasm travels up his spine, making him collapse on top of her as he loses control. She does him in by stuffing him tight and full with four of her fingers while abusing his clit with her mouth.

  
He cums with a muffled moan, face still firmly shoved into Maki's pussy, and the resulting pressure tips her over that same edge.

  
Moments later, he's lying spent on the dirty tennis court floor next to her, both of them perpendicular to the white out-of-bounds lines.

  
"Let's go back to my place," she says.

  
Ouma can do little more than mumble out an affirmative noise. Maki glances over at him and sees the blood he shed earlier crusting over a gentle, satisfied smile.

  
She feels so wonderfully tired.

  
She pulls him closer.

 

  
  
***  
Washing out the dirt and grime from their scrabble under a hot shower exhausts them both further, and after patching up Ouma's wounds and drying Maki's long hair, they all but collapse into bed.

  
There's no air conditioning in Maki's room, but it's fine--the weather outside isn't too muggy, and she pushes away the heavier sheets before she tucks them both in. Ouma is nestled between her arms like he was always meant to be there.

  
For a moment or two, she believes that he's drifted off, but is disproven when he shifts and speaks up sleepily. "Harukawa-chan?"

  
"Yeah?"

  
He rubs at one of his eyes and yawns. "Next time...you wanna, maybe..." His ears are just a touch pink. "Could you beat me with a belt?"

  
She finds nothing wrong with the request save for the ever-present detached amusement she feels at the fact that broken people like them always find such broken ways to express love. "Sure," she says, and grants him a kiss on the cheek.

  
He giggles quietly and turns back over, falling asleep within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it ended up fluffy but dont try this at home holy shit it doesnt work like this

**Author's Note:**

> you can request from me but i probably won't do it.
> 
> favs: oumugi, oumiu, kiyouma, oumoshi, ougoku  
> eh: oumaede, tojouma  
> ehh: oumaki....  
> not into it: oumeno, tenkouma
> 
> if there is any smut, i will put a warning in the beginning notes. also, ouma bottoms. sorry i don't make the rules.


End file.
